YOU WOULD think I’d be excited by the advent of the pre-season friendlies. After all, they presage the coming of yet another hopeful tilt at the Premier League title, the sense of anticipation perhaps greater this season than at any time in the last 15 years.

Yet somehow I’m just not ready for the weft and weave of the football season: the spurious transfer speculation, the pointless takeover rumour, Fergie’s latest ludicrous pronouncement.

The thought of taking to the motorways again to track our next attempt to land title number 19 doesn’t get the adrenalin pumping just yet; the delights of Sunderland and Portsmouth are yet to stir the blood.

This is partly, of course, due to the dreadful fare that is routinely dished up during the false dawn of the period leading up to mid-August; despite my best intentions, I still can’t resist the temptation to tune in to LFC TV for a glimpse of the boys in red, even though I know I’m doing the equivalent of sneaking into the theatre to watch a dress rehearsal before the actors have learnt their lines.

The dull spectacle against St Gallen was only periodically enlivened by the odd Gerrard spurt or the helpless laughter induced by Philipp Degen’s attempts to defend the back post.

A similar experience awaited me for the game in Vienna, the only thing to raise this spectacle above the mundane being the fanatical display by a packed home crowd for what was essentially a training exercise, and the unrestrained joy with which their players celebrated the winning goal.

Proof positive of our drawing power and reputation I suppose, but still surprising nonetheless.

At least so far this year we are being spared the hysterical Sky commentators treating each match as if it were a Champions League Final, with every mistake being scrutinised for its implications for the coming season.